


Supertinywords's Timkon Week 2019

by Onlymostydead



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Confessions of love, Cuddling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Implied/Referenced Temporary Major Character Death, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mild Angst, Minor Character Death, Nightmare mention, Percy Jackson AU, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Stephanie Brown, Trans Tim Drake, bed sharing, earthquake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-25 17:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20029825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: A collection of oneshots for Timkon week 2019! Everything from Confessions of love to Soulmates to Anniversaries.





	1. Bed Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings, if necessary, will be in the Notes!

This was about to be a long night.

"So." Tim interrupted the awkward silence, dropping his heavy backpack on the motel floor. "Cassie really went the extra mile to make it look like we're a newlywed couple backpacking in Europe, huh?"

Kon whistled, dropping his own bag with a thud. "She sure did. So... I can sleep on the floor?"

"I'm not making you sleep on the floor, Connor. That'd be shitty. As a friend and as a team lea-"

He shook his head. "Remember?"

Cassie was team leader right now. Right. Good for her, actually; Tim was actually kind of enjoying the break. It was nice. Being Batman's sidekick came with some expectations, but... Sharing responsibilities wasn't weak, that would just be stupid, and insulting to her.

When she challenged him for the team captain position he fought it at first, but... It was really great, getting to kick back a little more for once. And she was really thriving in the leadership role, so... Win-win situation. Except for right now.

"Well, it would be shitty of me as a friend." Tim corrected, hands on his hips. "And besides, we sleep together on the couch at HQ all the time."

"True, but the HQ couch is huge." Kon pointed out. "This is a queen sized bed."

"We're not very big people. You're what, five foot seven? I'm only five five."

He raised an eyebrow. "But you're built like a twig; I'm... not."

"And?"

Kon shrugged. "Fair point. It shouldn't be too bad... Just like cuddling back at HQ."

"Exactly." Tim nodded. "Without Bart and Cassie and the others."

Already he could feel his face beginning to heat up. This was going to be a long night.

"Well... In that spirit, let's get ready for bed, then."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop making it weird, Kon."

"I'm not..." Kon swallowed, face turning red. "...Making it weird."

Tim threw a pillow at him. "Just get ready for bed."

If only he could tell him, but... 

Stop making it weird, Tim, he reminded himself, and set off to get ready for bed.

***

Tim couldn't sleep in these conditions. For one, he himself got cold when he slept, which meant he was in socks, a tee shirt, and boxers. He had even debated wearing his jacket, but decided against it because of the weird zipper on it. Bart swore up and down it was the only jacket that would be right, though, so... 

Stupid European backpacking honeymoon trip.

But Kon? Tim was fairly sure that, alone, Kon slept naked as the day he was born... If he had been born normally, that was... Never mind. Leave the trainwreck of a thought where it started. The point being, he wore nothing but the tiniest, shortest, tightest pair of boxer briefs Tim had ever seen, with a Superman logo on the butt.

Sorry, Superboy logo. He was oh-so particular about that.

Normally, all bundled up as he was, in his own bed, Tim would fall asleep in whatever position he happened to be in when he got there. Often he woke up in the middle of the night with limbs that had gone numb, or in positions that ceased to be functional. But with Kon in the bed, he found himself curled up, trying to take up as little space as possible.

It wasn't even that there wasn't any space; he just wasn't prepared to face his feelings.

But of course he had to. Of course Kon, with his broad shouldered, well muscled physique had to sleep curled up normally, finding himself just naturally curling around the smaller object in bed...

...which happened to be Tim.

So here he was, lying awake, in a hotel in the middle of the French countryside, with his mostly naked crush, who was curled around him in the most decisively affectionate way possible.

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, that was for certain, so... Mission. They were backpacking around a region that had been suspiciously closed off to normal travelers recently, in hopes that exploring the area would most likely expose the illegal "Meta drug" factory they knew had to be operating nearby. 

Of course, Cassie's air surveys revealed nothing, so it would have to be underground or well concealed, but... They would find it. Couldn't be that hard, after all-

Kon shifted, wrapping his arms around Tim, hand slipping under his tee shirt and resting on his side, skin on skin. 

Tim's stomach was doing flips.

Well, now he wasn't going to get any thinking done, either. With that hot breath near his neck now at the forefront of his mind, the heavy way his hand rested there... 

Squirming, Tim moved away. As nice as that was, and as desperately as he wanted to lean into the touch, to turn and kiss him... Kon was asleep. And he really didn't need to be in that situation at all. 

But now he was thinking about kissing Kon, that ache in his chest. He had it bad; and for his best friend, too. 

From the moment he saw him, Tim thought he was beautiful. He never really had that 'Superman phase' like some queer boys did, or most of the girls he was friends with as a kid... But mostly just because he thought Kon was so much... Better, with his deeply tanned skin and tiny little freckles by his eyes. And those eyes - they were so blue, they could make the ocean jealous. Tim could get lost in them for hours. 

There was no questioning he had the better hair of the two; Clark's slicked down style was classic, yeah, but Kon's curls... The way he ran a hand through them so casually when he laughed, when he winked, when he smiled. Or just how soft his hair was. How he looked with seven billion hair ties in because Bart had access to hair supplies and Kon's head during a movie.

But beyond that, he was just... Softer. In a good way. He wasn't as tall. His face was a little rounder. His thighs and hips and stomach and arms all had some give. He wasn't pure muscle. He was pure perfection...

...Especially to cuddle with. Tim took Kon's hand and moved it - above the shirt - and held it cuddled close to his chest. 

The whole thing, though... It was so much more than looks. Kon was funny. He was a dumbass. He was alway deciding to go do the stupidest things for who knew what reason, but then he would turn and give Tim that dopey smile... And before he knew it, he was joining in whatever buffoonery, too. 

But he wasn't just a goofball. He was smart, and caring, and he had come such a long way and-

If Tim was just going to lie awake, thinking about everything Kon was, or everything Kon was to him, he was going to be here a long, long, long time. The facts of the 'case' were simple: his best friend was hot. And funny. And smart. And currently mostly naked, cuddling in a hotel bed with him in the middle of the French countryside.

And Tim was hopeless.

Sighing, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax. Surely, he would be able to sleep if he settled into their little spooning situation...

Kon sighed. "Are you asleep?"

So he wasn't either.

"No." Tim answered quickly, not even trying to sound tired. "Not even close."

"Jet lag?"

He chuckled awkwardly, thinking about every bit of skin pressed up against his own. "...something like that."

Kon pulled back a little bit. "Or is this uncomfortable for you?"

"No!" Tim blurted out, then blushed bright red. "I mean... No, this is good. It's all fine. Pretty comfortable. Unless you're uncomfortable...?"

"Nope." He settled back in. "So you don't need me to sleep on the floor, sounds like."

"No, Kon. It almost sounds like you want to sleep on the floor."

Kon snorted. "I mean, to get away from you..."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Like you could ever do that."

"Like I'd ever want to."

His heart seized in his chest. How could Kon just say things like that? One of these days he was just going to die on the spot. Cause of death: oblivious crush.

Tim chuckled, trying to brush it off. "Yeah..."

Kon cleared his throat. "Yeah. You're one of the best friends a guy could ask for, after all. And as absolutely groundbreaking my wonderful as the others are... I'm not sure if rather be in the same situation with them right now."

He laughed. "No kidding."

"Would Cassie pretend to be married to me?"  
"Are you joking?" Tim rolled his eyes. "She would find a way to make the most of the situation, that's for certain. Something tells me, though, that if it was up to her, this degree of accuracy wouldn't have been had for the newlywed couple."  
Kon hummed. "What do you mean?"

"You would have like, had a sleep disorder where you sadly couldn't share a bed with her or something, so you would have gotten a room with two beds."  
"Ahhhh...."

"Exactly." Tim nodded. "But, then again... We do all cuddle on the HQ couch an awful lot. Maybe not? Or maybe you would have been siblings backpacking together."

"Who knows?" Kon shrugged. "I'm just glad I'm not trying to sleep a whole night with Bart."

He snorted a laugh. "What, you don't like getting kicked in your sleep?"

"I mean... You get used to it..."

"It's an acquired taste." Tim agreed. "He does settle down eventually... Usually... Sometimes."

Kon nodded. "I mean, I'm used to it, but if he's trying to get to sleep-"

"Ohhh yeah."

"That's the real nightmare." He finished.

"Oh no, I get you on that." Tim agreed. "So, of the three of us, you'd rather have me?"

Kon shrugged. "Yep, sounds about right."  
"Even though I'm always cold, and sleep in socks?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I'll never understand how you do that."

Tim snorted. "Even though my fingers are always chilly?"

Kon pretended to shiver. "I mean, it's like Ma says, cold hands, warm heart?"

"Mm," He cuddled up closer to Kon's hand that he grabbed earlier. "You must have one cold heart then, mister."  
"I... Don't think that's how that works?"  
Tim shrugged. "Well, how's it supposed to work, then? You can't get all the external and internal warmth, that just wouldn't be fair. Did you steal it or something?"

Kon laughed. "How did you know?"

"Mm, it was obvious." He kept from laughing, doing a dry impression of Batman. "The mark of an amateur criminal was all over this case. Your warmth comes from the most ghastly crime of them all: stealing hearts."

"Do you have any proof?"

"Well, yeah." Tim swallowed; why not go for it? "You stole mine, obviously."

Kon took a moment. "Wait. What do you...?"

"I like you a lot, Connor Kent." He admitted, letting his eyes fall shut. "Maybe my hands are cold because you stole my heart; I don't really know how that part works, but... What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Are you... Still trying to go along with the joke?"

"Yeah?" Tim's voice broke. "I mean, you can just ignore all that and we can just sleep, or you can just sleep on the floor-"

"Don't you try to get me to sleep on the floor now, Tim Drake." Kon jokingly scolded, pulling away. "Roll over so I actually see you; we've just been like, spooning this whole time."

"Yeah..." He rolled over. "It's been weird."

"It kinda has... There."

Kon reached up and stroked Tim's face, and his heart skipped a beat right there. It was like sparks flew every time he touched him, which so wasn't fair, and...

"Dude, I like you too." He admitted, barely above a whisper.

"You do?"

Kon nodded. "I mean, it hasn't been an always thing, but... Pretty much always. For most of my awake life."

Tim laughed. "You clone."

"What, you didn't fall in love with me the moment you saw me in the cloning tubes?"

"Well, not the moment, but..."

They both laughed.

"Wait." Tim stopped. "Do you think this is what... You think Cassie was trying to set this up when she made us have to share a bed?"

"...damnit."

"What is it, Kon?"

"We... Had a bet on who would tell the other about their crush first." Kon explained. "So, I thought I would tell you first, because I didn't think you liked me, but..."

Tim grinned. "So you owe her money now?"

"Probably."

"Was it worth it?"

Kon smiled, leaning in, and just before their lips met-

"Definitely."


	2. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a full year. Not since Tim and Conner started dating - that was back when they were teenagers. No, it's been a full year since Tim got Conner back from the dead, and that's definitely worth celebrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Angst, minor character death, mentioned temporary major character death, nightmare mention, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

"Are you sure this is right, Ma?" Tim asked for what had to be the billionth time, moving the phone over and switching around the camera view so she could see how the 'dough' was coming together...

Or not coming together, more like.

"Ohh yeah." Ma Kent nodded, chuckling at his 'inexperience.' "Perfect."

She insisted it wasn't his stupidity, but Tim was pretty convinced otherwise. Ma was a wonderful lady, and he loved her, but even she had to laugh at him at some point. Nothing against her; he'd be laughing at him too. Being covered from nearly head to toe in flour, having been baking for hours, and calling her every half hour or so because something didn't seem right? Definitely crossed over one line to the other from 'inexperience' to 'stupidity.' It was pretty funny... Probably. To anyone but him.

"My biscuit dough always looks that dry before its kneaded." She reassured him again. "Just keep working at it, the butter'll get worked into the dough, and it'll start lookin' perfect in no time at all. Just don't let it get too warm, and don't add any water. Nothing liquid, no matter what you might think."

"Alright... Just like the recipe says now, right? Like the past five times?"

Ma Kent just smiled. "Exactly. Now, you take care, hon. I've got chickens to feed. Take care of my grandson, now."

"Thank you, Ma. I will."

"You're welcome, Timothy. And good luck with that anniversary." She winked.

He chuckled, nervously glanced up at the clock. "Yeah... I'd better get working."

"You'd better! Tell me how it goes. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Ma."

With that, she ended the call, and Tim got to work kneading the 'dough.'

It really didn't look like dough. Tim didn't know what to say about it, really. It looked like a dry, pale lump of flaky, powdery... Something, that might not even turn out edible, in the end. But he had spent this long on it already, and he was not about to be thwarted by something as simple as biscuits... Even if kneading it was more like mixing a strange mix of glue and paper with far too little glue, bits crumbling off in large chunks, sticking to his hands and frustrating him to no end.

Wait. Did he say simple? This was anything but simple. Nothing about this was simple. Tim was always 'good' in Home Ec, or at least, good enough, but they had never done anything this complicated.

But he did not grate all of that frozen butter for nothing. That was not easy.

He glanced up at the time, then went back to kneading. Ma's recipe required rolling it out and folding, rolling out and folding over and over. Supposedly that would make the tons and tons of flaky little layers like hers always had in it, but at this point...

He didn't have time to be skeptical. Conner was still asleep, for the time being, and if he wanted these biscuits to be a true 'anniversary' surprise they would have to be, you know, ready when he woke up. Ideally cooled enough to have for breakfast, with jelly and plenty of butter, but that might be pushing it a little bit with how stiff this dough was deciding to be. It wasn't clumping together anymore, at the very least. That was a drastic improvement.

He just wanted it to be perfect. Conner deserved it. In the past year, since they had started dating again, they had been through too much.

Conner insisted that this wasn't their first anniversary, since they had already celebrated one before. But... It was a year since Conner had come back from the dead. "Year anniversary" was a nicer way to put it than anything else he could think of. He... Didn't want to think about that. 

The one good thing about it, though, was that Conner definitely wasn't expecting anything today. He didn't remember that today was the day he came back. Well... Tim didn't think he would, at least. 

Biscuits, though. Focus on the biscuits.

Yeah, they often went over to Smallville for Ma's actual biscuits, but that wasn't the point of this whole thing. That would definitely be cheating. They were adults now. Well, Tim was eighteen, Conner was... A clone. Which made ages much weirder. He was what, five? Six? Did you count time someone spent dead? More questions he couldn't think about right now.

And eighteen never really seemed like adulthood anyway... But at the same time, with having been Robin for so long, he had felt like an adult for so much longer than that. 

They had come a long way from the kids they were at the start, just beginning on the Teen Titans, that was for sure. Back when Conner was still figuring out the world, and well... Tim was twelve, so he was too, really. Back before secret identities were out, before Tim came out, when he was just stressing about all of those things all the time. When neither of them had picked out those names for themselves, even. When life was scary and everything was a challenge.

Then there were those couple of good years before it all went to hell, when they trusted each other, when they got together, when they finally admitted how they felt. And Tim knew he couldn't go back to that, and he didn't want to. If he could change how some things went, so Conner never had to go through death, he would do it in a heartbeat. So that Cassie would be okay, and Bart, and Bruce, and everyone else...

But now, it was one full year later. Conner was back. He was safe. And if someone had told him during that time that he would be here, covered in flour, wearing an actual apron, calling Ma Kent about how to properly knead her biscuit recipe while Conner snored away in their bedroom? He would have cried actual tears of joy and call them a liar.

...Then again, it wasn't taking much to make him cry, during that time frame. And he didn't trust anyone.

The biscuit dough was, just like Ma Kent promised, starting to come together. It was going to take a lot more patience and a lot more kneading and folding to get it anywhere close to where it needed to be, but hey, that was life, wasn't it? And what hadn't taken a lot of patience, in the past year? Between Conner's nightmares about dying, Tim's nightmares about Conner dying, and just the normal fuckery they had to deal with on the regular, maybe kneading this biscuit dough was too good of an analogy to their relationship.

But, then again, Tim's mind was probably just wandering as he worked, getting too poetic. He'd been spending too much time with Duke, the writer he was. 

Hey, at least he mostly cured himself of his weird habit of talking to himself, picked up in his lonely childhood, then back up again while Bruce was dead when he was alone in Scotland, the only one convinced he was still alive. He had scared the shit out of Conner enough times thinking there was someone else in the apartment that they had to have a discussion about it, and... He was working on not talking to himself.

Out loud, at least.

Patience, he thought to himself, folding over the dough once more. Lots and lots of it. 

But now... Things were smoothing over, with the biscuits and their relationship, he thought. Conner couldn't get to sleep alone, he needed to fall asleep with someone, but he could stay asleep once he finally drifted off. Tim still woke up screaming most mornings, but Conner could calm him down without as much trouble. They were adjusting. 

Life was moving on.

And there were some things that had changed a lot, obviously. They weren't on a team together, so they didn't get to see each other a lot most of the time. Tim worked nights in Gotham, Conner worked during the day, most days, all the way in Hawaii. Tim was so used to being on his own by now that having Conner around sometimes was hard. Conner felt shut out, once in a while, and had a hard time figuring out why Tim kept shutting down.

But a lot of it stayed the same.

Because they still skateboarded around the city on days off, Tim getting scraped up and Conner telling him to be careful when he stuck brightly colored bandaids to his skin. They still dared each other to do stupid shit, and Conner would still eat nearly anything for five dollars. In between patrol, when they could, they would still get frozen yogurt at that one place they used to go to all the time, and complain about the toppings that the other one loved just for kicks.

Maybe it mostly looked like best friendship to some people, Tim thought to himself, folding over the dough again. But that's all it needed to be.

Because Conner was there for him. He didn't need a big, dramatic relationship with kisses all the time and make out sessions on every rooftop like some superheroes had - their relationships weren't bad, it wasn't to say that, it just wasn't who they were. They still mostly just held hands to show affection. 'Babe' was as much of a pet name as either of them would use. If it was anything more than that - if it needed to be - they would both end up going crazy.

No, everything was perfect how it was. Just working together. Living together. Adjusting. 

So Tim finished up kneading the dough, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and put it in the refrigerator. Kneading was done; he finish up and bake it next, and soon it would be time to wake up his boyfriend.

***

When Conner woke up, the bed next to him was cold. 

What time was it? 'Cause that could either be good, or bad. If that meant Tim had woken up to like, shower, or eat, or generally take care of himself - that was great. If that meant he woke up from a nightmare and Conner slept through it... That hadn't happened yet, that he was aware of, but more and more he was afraid it would. Ever since... Well, ever since he died Tim had been more secretive, and more closed off. And no matter what, he just wanted to be there for him.

Like he hadn't been able to.

But that wasn't his fault, Conner tried to assure himself, pulling himself upright. He couldn't blame himself for being dead when Bart died, or Cassie, or Bruce - none of that stuff. All he could do was be here now.

Still, it was hard to justify lost time, especially when he saw the changes. Not aging himself meant all of the little things that changed about Tim seemed so much bigger, like such obvious differences. He had gotten taller while he was alive before, since he had started taking testosterone, but he really shot up while he was dead. He started talking to himself again. He didn't seem to mind being alone as much, whereas before he really hated it. He woke up screaming. He was missing his spleen, along with gaining so many other scars. He wouldn't talk about what happened with Ra's al Ghul, no matter how hard pressed he was.

Connor just wished he could have been there, but... Of course, that wasn't possible. Throwing off the covers and sliding out of bed, he scrounged around the bedroom floor looking for a clean tee shirt. When he went to smell one, though, he swore he could smell-

"Biscuits?"

Tossing on the tee shirt regardless of cleanliness, Conner rushed out into the kitchen, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Standing there, wearing a pair of boxers, a tee shirt, an apron, and an abundance of flour, was Tim.

And on the counter was a pan of freshly baked biscuits, just like Ma made.

"Did you-" Conner could barely even speak. "How did you-?"

Tim grinned. "I got the recipe from your Ma. With any luck, they'll be half as good as hers."

Al he could do was smile. The kitchen was a total wreck, but he couldn't care one bit. Tim looked exhausted but so happy and proud of himself, and...

"I am the luckiest man alive."

He laughed. "Happy anniversary, Conner Kent."

Conner blinked, tipping his head to the side. "Uhh... Tim?" 

"Yep?"

"Our anniversary is in August." He reminded. "Not July."

Tim nodded, stepping closer to him. "I know that, but... It's been a year since I, you know, got you back, and..."

Conner wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight in a hug. "Happy anniversary?"

"Happy anniversary, babe."


	3. College AU - Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes a list of the things that have happened or that have fallen to his shoulders in the middle of some tough times, and Conner comes over to support him through them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Referenced Temporary Character Death, Canon Typical Violence, Happy Ending.

Tim didn't know how he was going to manage it. 

First: being Robin - sorry, he was Red Robin now, protector of Gotham, or the caped crusader, or whatever the hell you wanted to call him. Those specifics didn't matter. Well, caped crusader was more of Bruce's thing, but-

Bruce.

(Never mind. Save that for a later part, Tim. No need to get ahead of yourself.)

Being Robin had been a normal part of Tim's life since he was eleven, so really, this shouldn't have still been so hard, on a certain level, but... Somehow, it still managed to never get any easier. The same old same old was always new and exciting. Gotham never slept. The city didn't take breaks. He couldn't call a time out. For every single case he solved, or got a lead on, five more took its place. For every bruise that healed, it seemed like he cracked a rib, or broke his nose, or something worse. Every time he got back up? Five more goons knocked him right back down.

He was, downright, entirely, out of his mind exhausted, lying in bed.

And as much as his family tried to insist he could take a break... Could he? Could he really? Was that something he could afford right now? Because they were in shambles right now, and they needed everyone they could get in the field at the moment. He might be able to take a momentary break, but what would that mean for the citizens of Gotham? Were they safe? If he decided to take the week off, would people have to suffer for it?

Second: college.

Tim wouldn't be doing any of it at all if it weren't for his dad. He hated school; he didn't want to do it, he didn't want to be there any longer than necessary, and he certainly didn't find any need for an additional degree. He had even contemplated dropping out of high school, at one point. But...

It was what his dad would have wanted.

So Tim signed himself up for Gotham University's fall semester, ready to be a likely mediocre business student, with plans of maybe, maybe following in Bruce's steps later on, to get a law degree. He wasn't very concerned; honestly, it would probably be easier than balancing being Robin-

Red Robin, now, after everything that happened. Everyone kept reminding him, after all, that he wasn't Robin anymore. 

(But save that for later, Tim. Later.)

But it would be easier than balancing (Red) Robin with high school, since he didn't have to wake up so early or stay so long in the day. Maybe, just maybe, that would have worked out okay, if he didn't also have everything else that had fallen to him. And what else happened to have fallen on his plate?

Third: the company.

Tim knew that, when it came down to it, it was Luke and Lucius and others who were within the company already who would be really running things. That was just how it had to work on a practical level; but even as a figurehead, he was required to do some work. How, though, as a college student and full time vigilante, was he supposed to also figure out how to run a company, without anyone there to teach him how?

He couldn't count on anyone teaching him, but... It was all of those semi-useless skills he would need to obtain. How to pretend to make decisions and work and show up and say just enough in board meetings without sounding too invested or involved, but also without betraying too much ignorance. Those were things that Lucius couldn't teach because he didn't know, and things Bruce had perfected over the years. 

It was just so frustrating. And Bruce had fallen asleep in his fair share of meetings, but not at first. Not like this. The press was eating this up.

Fourth: family.

Aside from the... Other matter, they were all acting crazy. Jason's mental health had gone out the window, not answering calls or texts, more likely to stab someone at the door than say hello. Dick was more stressed than anything, and who could blame him, with that little brat around?

No, Damian was doing his best. Still, it was hard not to resent him a little bit. Taking his position as Robin. Sure, Dick claimed he was ready to move on, but... He didn't feel ready. Eighteen didn't feel like adult enough to branch out on his own.

Duke was busy working all day when he wasn't in school - the whole day, during the summer, which was too much for a kid working by himself. Dick had tried to convince him to take a break too, but... His drive was too strong. Tim didn't know what he was searching for, or what it was he was seeking, but he wasn't taking a break any time soon.

Then Cass was in Hong Kong, and... He missed his sisters. Stephanie was always making herself disappear, more now than ever. She was out there, working, doing her part, but... She had her own mess to deal with, and no time for theirs.

So, he supposed it was mostly Dick and Damian going berserk, with Jason fueling the flames. Dick couldn't accept the work he was doing, that he wouldn't take a break, that he wouldn't blindly accept that Bruce was-

(Later.)

-and Damian hated his guts for no reason whatsoever. He was always trying to start fights, always trying to get a reaction, to prove himself. It was irritating at best, at worst...

It compounded with the problems with number one, adding to his injuries and taking him off the streets, making Gotham a worse place. Sometimes, those made it difficult to handle various school work and managing the company, because the injuries were obvious enough to cause visible issues, and he couldn't have the press pick up on that. Then he was just further and further behind, lying on his bed, wallowing, doing nothing, stewing his grief over-

Fifth: Bruce's death.

Because as he was lying here, in his shitty apartment, nursing a stab wound or five given to him by some of Two Face's goons and a concussion courtesy of Damian, that was what it came down to. 

He could deal with the company; he'd done it before. Wayne Tech had handled worse. The family? That was all normal, even when Jason was going through some shit, or a new member was rocking the boat a little. Robin? Oh, sorry, Red Robin. He'd been doing it for seven years, no matter what name you put it under. That was what it really came down to. And school?

School was school. He hated it, but...

He owed that to his dad. And he wasn't going to let him down. 

But with Bruce gone...

That was why he wasn't Robin anymore, he was Red Robin because Damian took over his spot. Sure, the costume hadn't had green since Conner died - thank the stars he was back - but still. 

That was why school was such a hassle, because he didn't have that extra person to watch his back when he was out on patrol if he was spreading himself too thin. Mistakes didn't get him sleepily carried back to the batmobile; mistakes got him dead.

That was why taking over the company was hard, because that was what Bruce had been doing this whole time. The figurehead deal. The effortless amount of effort thing. Just enough knowledge, without looking intelligent. All of that.

And Jason was trying to be Batman, which meant he was fighting Dick, which meant he had effectively turned himself against literally all of them. Tim could only hope he would snap out of this episode before he ended up causing some more serious damage...

Especially since Dick was so delicate right now. Bruce practically raised him. Whether he admitted he was like a weird dad-older brother to him or not, Bruce really was that stability in his life. That net. And without that...

And on top of that, he had Damian to deal with? Tim did not envy that situation.

Then Duke was having to work solo, dealing with the uptick in violent crime in broad daylight. And Cass was still gone, missing her new adoptive dad. And Steph wasn't around, and...

A knock on Tim's apartment door startled him out of his thoughts. Unfortunately, there was no way he could get the door, leaving him a sitting duck. Well, he could, but not without the very real possibility of tearing a stitch and getting lectured by Alfred... And having to get it stitched shut again, which he was definitely not interested in.

But...

It was odd. He hated needles, but recently they hadn't been bothering him so much. Maybe it was growing up, maybe it was grief.

Either way, he wasn't answering the door. He didn't feel like talking, really, right now. Especially not to Dick, which was who it probably was.

A second later, though, someone unlocked the door, and-

"Tim?" Connor called out, concern high in his voice. "Tim, are you alright?"

"Yeah." He croaked back, surprised by the roughness of his throat. "I'm in my room, shut the door behind you."

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah, fine, why?" Tim answered on impulse, pulling himself into a little bit more of an upright position. "Just a little stabbed."

Connor's eyes went wide. "Like, recently!?"

"No! No! Yesterday, yesterday." He shook his head, instantly regretting the movement. "Concussion, too."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Oh, you know." Tim shrugged. "A demon brat and some thugs."

He sighed, already going to get Tim a fresh glass of water. "Seriously, the kid can't be that bad, can he?"

"One of these days, you'll end up with a little brother of your own, and you'll know what I mean."

Conner came back into the room. "Here, think I could help you sit up, at least? You have to get some water somehow."

"I can drink water on my own, you know." Tim pointed out. "But thank you."

"Why don't you, then?"

"Hey!"

He took the water and, with the practice of someone who has been bedridden with many similar injuries before, drank the cup down and set it down on the nightstand.

"More seriously, though..." Conner started, crawling into bed next to him. "How're you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Tim shrugged. "I mean... Things suck. It's fine. It's all just..."

"You know that's not what I mean, Tim."

The list. All of the things he had to keep up with. And those were just the major things, too. It didn't even count minor stuff, or friendships, social events, public image... His relationship with Conner... All of the things that had taken a back burner. Any humor that Tim had been using faded, leaving him feeling old and alone, like all of his colors were faded. Above anything else, he was just... Tired.

He sunk further into the bed. "I don't know, Kon. I don't know."

"Hey, it's okay." Conner whispered, pulling up the covers around them. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Just hold me?"

"As long as you can guarantee I won't tear your stitches..."

"I can't guarantee shit." Tim stated plainly, burying his face in his neck. "But right now? I don't care. I just need you to hold me."

"Now that-" He shifted, holding him close. "I can do."

"Everything just seems like it's falling apart, you know?" 

Conner nodded, humming ever so quietly. "It'll be okay, Timmy. It'll be okay."

"I know, but..." Tim sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Bruce isn't dead. No one believes me, but he's not. He's not dead, Conner."

"Okay, Tim."

"Do you believe me, Kon?" He pulled his face away from Conner's neck very slowly, as to not jostle his head. "You believe me, right?"

The lights were off, but he could see his eyes well enough to know. All Conner had to do was smile and nod; nothing could be more obvious.

"I believe you, Timmy." He whispered, gently guiding Tim's head back down. "Now rest, shh..."

Tim swallowed, wiping his eyes on Conner's shirt. "He's not dead."

"I know, Timbo. I know."

"Not dead."

Conner rubbed circles into his back, humming softly, just continuing to hold him close. And that's what Tim needed. Someone to reassure him that he wasn't crazy, that Bruce really wasn't dead after all.

In the morning they might have to deal with the list, or other problems, but right now?

Tim closed his eyes, and let himself no longer worry about how he was going to manage it. That was a problem for another day.


	4. Free Day/Theater AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When auditions roll around for the first play of the school year, Tim is left with a lot of questions. What is the new drama teacher going to be like? Why did they pick Romeo and Juliet?
> 
> Who's that cute guy auditioning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transphobia mention, but it's more of a casual thing.

The beginning of school for most people meant getting to see their friends after a long summer, dreading harder new classes, and looking forward to the inevitable end of high school that came with moving up a grade. At least, that's what Tim thought it meant for everyone else, he didn't really know. He was never exactly in those circles, even if some of those things affected him a little bit.

Because for the drama kids, everything else was always overshadowed by two things:

First and foremost, the arrival of the new drama teacher. It happened every couple of years, sometimes more than that, because they just never stayed, especially in Gotham. It was just a fact of life. Everyone looked forward to the new one, though. Would they be fun? Would they pick good shows? What would they allow backstage? What kind of warm-up's would they run? Could they cast well? Was their taste level up to par?

Were they an asshole?

And second, everyone looked forward to the first production of the year.

Which, right now, was having its auditions, and they were right in line for them.

"And why does it have to be Romeo and Juliet?" Tim groaned, rolling his eyes. "Does the new drama teacher not know how many of those we've done over the years?"

"Apparently not; and I mean, we've only done one at the school." Stephanie sighed, fluffing her curls. "But, with your luck, you'll play one of the leads."

"I just really don't want to be Juliet... again. That would make three. Three times, Steph."

"I know, but..." She shrugged. "Maybe they'll cast me as Juliet? That could be fun."

Tim snorted. "With our luck? It'll be the other way around."

"Please. If they cast me as Romeo is just quit drama altogether. Don't know how you manage with taking female roles like that." Stephanie shivered. "I haven't played a boy since the fifth grade, and I don't plan on doing it ever again."

"Well, what did you write on your audition sheet?"

"That I'm auditioning for Juliet, or any female role." She explained. "But... I'll take any role given to me. I wouldn't mind Tybalt, in all reality... And I think I could give the role a twist. Maybe make him a woman. I think a Tybalt who's pretending to be a man is interesting."

Tim snorted. "I just wrote any role, preferably male."

"See, that's your problem! You write preferably. You have to be unwavering."

He shrugged. "Maybe... Look at the guy auditioning right now, though."

The boy walking onto the stage right now had to be new. At least, that, or Tim had never seen him before. He was gorgeous, with curly black hair, tanned skin, and a gold earring that glinted in the stage light.

Of course, he looked gorgeous from this distance. Who knew up close? That's what Tim had to tell himself, at least. His heart was beating uncontrollably out of his chest. His palms hadn't been this sweaty since his freshman year, when they produced Pirates of Penzance and Dana sat in the front row. The way the light caught his face, giving him such a warm, angelic glow...

But harsh, what yonder stage light breaks...?

"See, that's the thing, though." Stephanie started. "New theater director might mean that they don't know who can actually handle shit and who can't, so we end up with a shitstorm of a production where we're like, not even cast, like the second semester of freshman year."

"Ooh, when we were just not the right fits for the production, and only white kids were cast?"

She laughed. "Yeah, that - but let's hear new kid. He's not bad looking."

"No, he is not." Tim agreed.

"For a guy." She tacked on. "Think he's hot?"

"Let me hear his monologue, then we'll see."

It is the east, and this boy is the sun.

No, you're just gay, Tim reminded himself. Now listen to his monologue.

***

Cast lists were out at the end of the next week, and Stephanie was grinning from ear to ear at lunch, holding a neon orange piece of paper in her hand. Cast list, most likely.

"Oh no." Tim paled. "That can't be good. What is it?"

"Well, for one, I'm written on the list specifically as Female Mercutio, so that's something hella cool!" She started, pumping her free fist in the air. "They're not even trying to make me play a boy!"

"Yay! Way to go, dude."

"And they're not making you play a girl either, but..."

He frowned. "I don't like the way that sentence started. What does that mean?"

"You're Juliet. Again. Male Juliet." Stephanie stated, nodding. "Which... It's been weirder."

"Yep." Tim nodded back. "It certainly has. Third time's the charm?"

"And guess who's Romeo...?"

"...who?"

"Guess!" She rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"Please not Rose."

"Nope, not Rose."

"Alicia?"

"Nope."

"Dara?"

"Not Dara, I don't even think she auditioned." She frowned. "It's another boy."

"...The hot guy from auditions?"

"You betcha." Stephanie whipped out her phone from behind the paper, showing him an Instagram page. "Conner Kent, just moved here from Smallville, Kansas. Told you he had a little accent in his monologue. A little Midwestern twang."

Tim blinked. "You... Stalked him?"

"Lowkey. Nothing you wouldn't have done. Anyway, rehearsal starts Monday-"

***

Conner Kent, as it turned out, was a dream to work with. He wasn't an inexperienced actor, which made some things difficult, but for the most part? He got his lines quickly, and took his notes faster. Tim had been paired with far worse Romeo's than guys who had a hard time remembering the difference between upstage and downstage.

In fact, this may be his best Romeo yet.

It helped that he was, in fact, also beautiful up close. His eyes were the most sparkling blue, his hair had the most perfect curls, his left cheek dimpled when he smiled... Yeah, Tim was hopeless. Even his acne scars found a way to be adorable.

"Upstage-" he reminded, during a five minute break. "Is when you go up, up, and away from the audience."

Tim demonstrated, jogging up the drama room toward the back wall of what their 'stage' was until they were in the actual space.

"And downstage is down to meet them." He reversed, turning around and coming back. "Got it?"

Conner laughed. "Can you please be that graceful as Juliet? Running around like that? That'd be hilarious."

"Can you imagine?" Tim snorted. "Actually, there was this one time, I was Ophelia..."

***

(Steph): Timmy

(Steph): Timmers

(Steph): Temperature Kelvin

(Steph): Timothy

(Tim): why are you like this??

(Steph): getting your attention

(Steph): can u come over?

(Tim): sure but I have to finish my bio lab

(Steph): screw bio, it's the scheduled end of show breakdown time and I need you over here for a nail painting emergency STAT

(Tim): what???

(Tim): the show isn't even over

(Steph): this is the last week of normal rehearsal isn't it? After this is tech, then performance

(Steph): you know what this means

(Tim): I come over and you paint your nails a color you think you can get away with onstage?

(Steph): bingo

(Steph): think Mercutio would rock crackle nail polish?

(Steph): like we used to in the 2000's???

(Tim): ...I hate you

(Tim): I'll be right over

***

Tim showed up at Stephanie's door twenty minutes later, AP Bio homework complete, one of her hoodies tucked under his arm, script in hand. She answered the door as predictably as ever: a hot mess. Her curly blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, most of her makeup had worn off, and she wore only a slouchy tank top and pajama pants.

They had been doing this for years; it was kind of a tradition. Only this year, it was about to get a little more interesting.

You weren't supposed to have cast crushes. It was one of the biggest rules of theater, just because, well... It got so messy, most of the time. And if they ended up staying in drama for a long time, well... Working with them could get awkward in the future if you dated, or even if you didn't. It was best to just not do it.

But Tim went and fucked up.

And now Steph would want to hear all about it, because that's what friends were for.

"Are you just going to stand there, are you going to let me in?" Tim teased, waving his script in front of her face.

Steph stepped aside, letting him through. "Do we ever actually run lines?"

"No? Well, we did that one time..."

"That was when you were Ophelia with braces in the eighth grade, and you were worried about the pronunciation of your Shakespeare." She reminded. "Think good old Mercutio would paint his nails black?"

"You know what? Better than crackle, but I think he'd go bolder."

Steph grinned. "Now we're talking. You want any?"

"Nah." He shook his head, still following up to her room. "I'm good. Brought your hoodie back that I stole the other day, though."

"Radical. Seriously though, not even anything sheer? Not to impress your ever so handsome Romeo?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I mean, he's not that-"

"Don't lie."

"-he's hot."

"There it is." She laughed. "Have you been waiting this long to tell me you have a crush on him?"

Tim blushed bright red. "Umm... Maybe?"

Practically cackling, Steph flopped down on the bed, and Tim next to her. "You have to tell him."

"No, I don't-"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, you don't really-"

"Steph-"

"But you really could, any you never know what could happen." She finished, reaching for a bottle of not black, but bright magenta nail polish. "I mean, we know he likes guys. He wears that bi pin all the time."

"Yeah..."

"And we know that he watches you with the softest look on his face, like he's seeing heaven actually come down from above. Like you're actually the sun."

"Steph!"

"I wouldn't exaggerate something like that!" Stephanie claimed, unscrewing the nail polish. "Seriously, the guy adores you. The lines where he's in love with you work so well because of it. I think that's why you got cast where you did, honestly."

"But..." Tim trailed off. "Is it just the kind of thing where he likes my company because I showed him the ropes of theater stuff? You know, I took him under my wing?"

"Pfft, no." She waved him off. "It's a crush, I know it. After the last show-"

"That far away?"

Stephanie looked at him like he had grown a third eye. "Of course that far away. I don't want your crush making Romeo be all No Homeo on stage if it goes wrong. No homo, but no-"

"I got it, I got it. No Homeo." Tim repeated, pressing his eyes shut. "Yep. I'll keep it to myself a little longer."

"You've got this." She assured him. "Think the director will mind if I go for a teal accent nail?"

"...only one way to find out."

Steph grinned, grabbing the bottle.

***

Every showing seemed to be a bigger hit than the last, but the time the last show rolled around, honestly... Tim was a little relieved. The pressure was finally lifted as they mingled with the audience in the cafeteria, outside the theater, for a makeshift meet and greet. 

His own family was here, Bruce and all his brothers, Dana, and some friends had come to see the final performance, but right now...

His eyes were glued to Conner. He looked so dashing in his costume - their costumer really did a good job this year, executing simplicity extremely well. The white button down's billowing sleeves had a dramatic, romantic look to them; if he had his earring in he would have looked like a perfect pirate. The intricate vest he wore gathered in right at the smallest part of his waist, emphasizing his gorgeous curves. Beyond that, everything was simple: belt, black pants, and boots he couldn't walk quietly in to save his life. On anyone else that would have been irritating, but he managed to be adorable.

Tim really needed to look away, but-

Steph found him before he could. "Come on, grab Conner, we're getting out of costume."

He nodded, shaking himself out of his thoughts, and forced ahead.

"Hey Conner, we're getting out of costume." Tim shouted a little over the crowd.

Conner nodded, stepping forward through the people and taking his hand as they made their way backstage.

And Tim couldn't say a word, brain not functioning properly, legs barely walking.

"Too gay to function," He muttered to himself."

"What?" Conner asked. "Sorry, I can't hear you, people are a little loud."

"Nothing, it's-" Tim shook his head, blushing wildly. "Nothing."

***

"So, Con..."

They were in the green room, cleaning up, and this was Tim's chance. Sure, they went to school together, and he'd have other chances, but...

"How was that for your first play?"

Conner grinned, gathering up empty bottles in his arms. "Epic. I mean, if you can describe Romeo and Juliet as Epic-"

Tim snorted. "When Mercutio's nails look like that? I think you can."

He laughed. "True, true... So, the cast party is next Friday, right?"

He was so beautiful, his stage makeup wearing off in smeared eyeliner and greasy foundation, looking like the prettiest mess Tim had ever seen.

"Yep. We're all headed over to Dinah's." He finally choked out, tossing some half-eaten food.

"We've gotta hang out before then, though." Conner said, tossing his armful of plastic bottles into the recycle bin. "Are you free for ice cream?"

Tim could feel himself blushing. "Y-yeah. That sounds great."

"I meant... Maybe... As a date."

He grinned. "Even better."


	5. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim spends most of his young life without any soulmarks, wondering if he even has a soulmate.
> 
> Conner wakes up for the first time, his body covered with soulmarks, confused by what they all mean... And if they're all good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has implied/referenced child neglect, bad parenting, defense of said bad parenting, and implied/referenced self harm. But also happy ending and hurt/comfort!

For every significant life event or thing that happened in your soulmates life, a corresponding mark appeared on your skin. Some of his classmates had things like piano lesson books, stuffed animals, or even pets already appearing on their skin, items from soulmates they didn't yet know. His mom had a stapler on her forearm from the time his dad stapled his fingernail; his dad had his mom's grandma's favorite tea set on his shoulder. It was a simple enough concept, and yet... It was something Tim had struggled with for years. If it was so simple, why didn't he have anything? 

Did he not have a soulmate?

Did his soulmate not have anything significant to them?

Was his soulmate not even born yet?

Most people his age were getting their first soulmarks by the time they were in kindergarten or first grade, though, and he was already eleven. If his soulmate wasn't even born... That was an age gap that he didn't want to think about at this point. Sure, it happened, but they would have to meet way, way later in life.

And he didn't want to think about way later. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to hold hands, and kiss cheeks, and take somebody to the prom one day, and promise their dad that he'd have them home before nine.

But still... Nothing.

***

Tim was twelve when they formed Teen Titans. It was supposedly an elite group of the best teen superheroes, but... Most of the time it was just a bunch of kids with superpowers.

He didn't mind one bit. It was nice to have friends. 

But there were still the discussions of soulmarks, and... Tim always wandered over to the computer, to do research. Anything else but thinking about his still bare skin. It wasn't unheard of, by any means, but to other kids? Twelve years was a long time.

***

The next year is when they found... Him. 

The Teen Titans team knew that Lex Luthor was up to some shady business, but no one knew quite how deep it went. But as they delved further and further into the lab... 

Tim felt a warm sensation on his arm. He ignored it.

They forged on, past hallways and hallways of specimens, some living, some dead. They got the living ones out of there, keeping them in their pods to ensure stability if they seemed damaged or otherwise... Off in some way, and continued down the path.

But at the end of the line, that's where he was.

The pod was smaller than the ones they had been encountering in the area, closer to the size of... Tim swallowed. Closer to the size of a human being, he had to notice. It was too obvious not too. Various tubes and wires were hooked up to it, more than any pod so far. Stranger still, this pod sat perfectly in the center of the room, upright. The focal point. At the end of all of this, here was the final piece.

Taking in a deep breath, he walked over to the computer, booted up the lights, and...

It was a boy.

He wasn't a man; he was just... A boy. Maybe a little bit older than Tim, with a shaved head and pale, sallow skin. The way his veins looked, all blue and sickly, the translucent hue of his skin, especially contrasted against his dark soulmarks, made it seem as if he'd be emaciated, but... 

Almost unnaturally, he was well muscled and strong. From his calves to his shoulders he was built like a Roman statue, like Superman-

Like Superman.

"He looks like Superman." Tim noted hollowly, closer examining his face.

The thick brows, wide set eyes. His large nose, full lips, strong chin-

He opened his eyes, revealing that same blue.

Tim's heart skipped a beat.

***

When he went home that night, Tim found a mark on his arm: an artificial growth pod filled with sickly green liquid.

***

A week later, another followed: a torn superman symbol.

***

Conner Kent was on the team in less than a month after his liberation from LexCorp, and Tim couldn't be more proud. He also couldn't be more nervous. With the soulmarks appearing on his own skin concerning him, as well as the fact that this guy was his soulmate... How was he supposed to be calm?

But for the time being... He was just supposed to act normal. Everything was fine. 

...right?

***

"So, Tim..."

Conner's heart felt like it was flip flopping in his chest. Months had gone by since he joined this team - almost a whole year - and now he was finally getting up the courage to ask him. To talk to him about it.

It wasn't very long into, you know, being outside of the lab that Conner learned what a soulmate was, and how it worked. Bart explained it all very quickly. Literally. After all, he woke up covered in markings he would later identify as soulmarks.

It wasn't hard to realize it was Tim. What was hard was realizing that all of them fit into his life somehow. Even the... Less pretty ones.

"Yeah, Kon?" Tim swiveled in his chair to face him. "What is it?"

"You know that we're soulmates, right?"

He seemed to blanch at that, going completely still. Did he not want to be? Was he embarrassed? Did he do something wrong?

But he nodded nonetheless. "Yeah, I... I know. I wanted to give you some time before crowding you with all that."

Conner nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "It is a little confusing..."

"Tell me about it."

"But I wanted to know." He added, taking a step forward. "Obviously, you could tell me no if you wanted to, but... I wanted to know what some of them meant. After this long I feel like I know you pretty well... until I see them again. Then it gets confusing."

Tim swallowed, squirming in his seat. "Well... Let's go over to your room."

Leading the way, Conner couldn't help but notice Tim's... Hesitance. He was never like this. This wasn't the normal Tim he knew. Was there something going on? Was he hiding something?

He guessed he would find out.

Either way, they both entered the room and sat on the bed, and Conner stripped off his hoodie so his arms would be visible.

"I don't know if the soulmarks follow a timeline." He admitted. "I can take off my shirt too; there are more under there."

"I know, you walk around shirtless enough." Tim rolled his eyes, his humor back. "And I think it starts here... Shit, that really is somewhere to start."

"You okay, Tim?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He repeated mechanically. "I'll admit, I never really looked at them before, since I didn't know what I'd see, but... This was a set of toys I would play with all the time as a kid, because they were a family that looked like mine, but the mom and the dad were always home. They never once went on a business trip, or even to work. Kinda crazy, right?"

Conner frowned. "I'm... Not really sure what that means."

"My parents were gone all the time when I was a kid." Tim admitted. "So whenever I played with toys, I tried to make their families perfect, so that their parents didn't leave them alone... Anyway, next one is this one, I'd guess."

"You go straight from dolls... To a camera?"

He grinned. "I was sneaking out at night, trying to snap photos of Batman and Robin. I was seven, at the time, so that was when Jason has just started out. I had seen videos of Robin doing tricks, and... I was completely obsessed."

"A little bit of a fanboy, huh?" Conner teased, hoping he used the word right. "That's cute."

Tim blushed bright red. "Yeah, well... After that is this set of pearls. That's when my parents started coming back a little more often, once in a while, only to make me go to fancy galas once in a while."

"That's... Rude."

"I hated it." He whispered, more like a hiss, finger tracing each pearl on Conner's forearm. "Dressing up in their dresses and shirts and jewelry and makeup - I did it, because I was a 'good girl', and I got rewarded, and when I was good they stayed longer, but... It was awful."

Conner swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Tim broke the quiet, completely shifting the mood. "These scissors are from when I cut my hair off. I had it all in ponytails, so I could donate it, because I didn't want it to go to waste. The story in the headlines made me sound charitable, and my parents were..."

"...furious?" He guessed.

"Apathetic. They didn't care one bit."

Conner blinked. "They had to have cared about something you did."

"No, that makes them sound awful, and that's not fair to them." Tim argued, biting his lip. "They really love me, they're just... Gone all of the time. And see, all of these school books and papers up your arm? I was the president of four clubs, I was in two programs, I was class president three years in a row, and I got straight A's. They bragged on me all the time."

"But... Did they care?"

He deflated like an old balloon. "Well... Of course they... Yeah. They cared. They have to care. Of course they care. They're just busy, that's all."

"Okay." Conner conceded, still not satisfied. "Then... I mean, I think I know what the Robin symbol means, but the blood spatter?"

"Gotham was at the worst it had been in a long time." Tim explained. "Batman was violent. Bloody. Getting... Evil. It's only fitting that it's Robin with blood."

He nodded. "Alright. And are these scars you got after you became Robin or something?"

But after Conner pulled back his tee shirt sleeve to show Tim the scar marks, he went white as a sheet. His eyes went wide. His hands went still.

"Tim? Tim, are you okay?"

Slowly, he nodded.

Then he swallowed. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He finally choked out, covering his mouth. "Just didn't... Expect to see that today."

"Do you need to lie down, or-"

"I'm good." Tim's voice broke; he still looked a little queasy. "I just..."

Slowly, again, he stood up. Then he turned, pulled down the edge of his jeans, and there were the same scars, right there on his hip. Strange place for-

Deep breath.

"They were self inflicted." He admitted in a quiet voice, covering them back up and sitting back down on the bed. "It was just... A rough time for me."

Conner felt frozen. How was he supposed to respond to that? He liked to pretend that he was all cool and untouchable and all that, but... Tim's words hit him like a knife to the chest.   
He couldn't even imagine what that was like. Hell, he'd been grown in a lab. He didn't know what pain felt like, beyond kryptonite. What could he even say?

Instead, he opted to say nothing, instead just wrapping his arm around him.

"I don't do it, anymore." Tim admitted. "Been clean almost a year. Raven found out about it and insisted, and... I'm better for it. It's good."

A lump in his throat was still preventing any words, but he nodded.

"And... I don't know what other soulmarks you have, obviously." He told him, leaning in closer. "But... Maybe we should take things easy? We're kinda just kids right now, as much as I'd love to be able to say Superboy's my boyfriend."

Conner laughed. "You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would." Tim said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I just love that kind of attention. I'm a tabloid star, right here."

"To be honest? I think those things are just funny."

"Just wait 'til they're about you." He teased, elbowing him lightly. "But, we can agree... Soulmates, in a really relaxed way?"

"Ohh yeah." Conner nodded, holding him closer. "I don't know if I know how to do anything else. Being bro's is fun and all, but it doesn't exactly set you up for dating."

"Good thing you're going to be dating one of your best bro's."

He grinned, offering a fist-bump. "Wicked."

Tim snorted. "You know no one says that, right?"

"I do, now are you gonna leave me hanging?"

So they fist bumped, and Conner kissed him on the forehead, and things definitely didn't feel perfect, but... They felt right, somehow. Like right now, yeah, they were weird teenagers just working things out, but maybe, just maybe... They could get somewhere with this.

They were soulmates, after all. Even if Conner didn't really know what that meant.

***

(Four years later)

(Tim): I'll be there in 5

Tim slid his phone into his pocket again then - for what felt like the billionth time - pulled down the car mirror to check his hair. It was still, predictably, all in place, gelled to perfection. 

He didn't know why he felt so nervous.

Prom didn't matter to him, anymore. It used to, when he was a kid without a soulmate, trying to figure things out. But it did mean something to Conner, and that's what counted. He was doing this for him, now. And if it mattered to Conner, it mattered to him, because he made Tim feel special just by being around, so... If this was a night to make him feel special? Like hell was Tim going to give that up.  
So they went the whole nine yards. They were wearing matching suits, ties and pocket squares and all, and Alfred was driving them to the dance itself. And afterward, Bruce was trusting him with the car, so they could go get dinner...

...As long as he had Conner home before nine. Clark's rules.

(Conner): Can't wait

(Conner): ...bro

(Tim): I love you too


	6. Mythology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner Kent was having the worst day of his life. Everything was going entirely wrong, nothing could get worse-
> 
> Until the cute boy in the tie dye hoodie showed up and killed the janitor-snake-monster-thing for him. That was pretty cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy Jackson inspired AU? I had fun. There's some violence, but it's pretty much monsters. Family weirdness, I guess.

Connor Kent was having a rough day, and that was a massive understatement. It started with the pre-calculus test that he definitely bombed. Or, actually, with the fact that his foster sister took forever on the bathroom so he didn't get a shower, and he missed breakfast. Then he broke the lead on his pencil. Then he was late to class, like, really late, because he couldn't get a late slip from the pre-calc teacher when he asked her for help after said test he bombed, and-

Did that janitor just turn into... A snake?

He hadn't been at this school for long, and this janitor had given him the creeps, but not that bad. He just always felt like he was watching him from under the brim of his ball cap, scheming as he sipped at his Redbull. 

But turning into a snake? That was a whole new level of crazy.

Redbull gives you snakes, apparently. This was just not his day. Bad luck really did just seem to follow him, from home to home, place to place, no matter what he tried to do. Best to just... Avoid it? 

But this snake certainly wasn't avoiding him. It's body rippled back and forth, impressive muscles holding it aloft in the air. Acid dropped from its horrible mouth, spattering on the tiles and sizzling out in smoke. The janitor's ball cap still sat on top of its grotesque head.

"Uhh... C'mere?"

He didn't know why he said it. It was really out of impulse. The last thing he wanted was for that thing to come here. The very last. It was dripping acid, for fucks sake. But he was late for class, and-

Connor frowned. Class? There was a snake. In the building! Could he even call that thing a snake? What was that?

Better question: why wasn't he running?

Turning on his heel, Connor ran. As fast as he could, down the hallway, through the auditorium-

The thing was keeping pace.

The sizzling sound, accompanied by the smell of sulfur, followed. That awful acid, burning away at everything it touched.

Why was this thing here?

And better yet, why did it pick Connor to chase? Weren't there tastier sophomores here? Or maybe he only picked the ones failing multiple classes?

He rounded a corner, ducking into the cafeteria. No one was in there, and it was sudden enough that just maybe-

The snake-acid-ball-cap thing made the turn too. Shit. Connor kept running. But-

What was that?

He had seen something, out of the corner of his eye. Just a little blur, but...

There it was again! On the other side, this time. Was he dying? What was going on?

He turned into another hallway, then swiveled down another route. Faster and faster, his thighs burning, lungs aching for a breath-

There were no more turns to make.

Connor Kent was trapped between an acid spitting snake and a bathroom. Certainly one way to avoid class, but...

The monster reared its ugly head. His heart pounded. Something clicked in his head, finally, about this being real. There was nowhere to go. Connor could feel the adrenaline pouring through his veins, the sweat coating his skin. He could smell the rotten egg smell of the sulfur. He could see the smoke rising from the-

And there was that shadow again, blurring in right behind the monster. Strange. Was it doing that? Was it a distraction tactic, or a side effect of the smoke and fumes he was breathing?

The snake pulled back, opening its mouth wide, preparing to strike-

Connor braced himself. This definitely isn't how he thought he would die, but then again... Young, and doing something stupid, so... Maybe it was exactly what he thought he would be doing. Just not where.

He was just upset that he never got to find his dad.

-and the strike never came.

A billow of... Smoke? Shadow? Darkness erupted from the dim side of the hallway, and out from it came a sword-wielding figure who lopped the ball cap-wearing-snake-monster-thing's head clean off, leaving it to dissolve into a strange yellowish vapor.

It was at this very specific moment that Conner decided he was dreaming after all, because boy was this guy cute.

As he sheathed his actual, literal sword, Conner was frozen in place, not from fear of death, but embarrassing himself. 

First off he was short - far shorter than he himself was even, probably only five foot or so. His black hair was cut jagged and uneven, reaching to about his jawline, and pulled back from his round face with a couple of hair clips. And his eyes were the clearest grey blue, like a slightly stormy day.

But despite the whole smoke or darkness thing, he didn't dress so dark. His hoodie was rainbow tie died, topped with a green band tee with the sleeves cut off. His blue jeans boasted more holes and patches in weird places than Conner had ever seen before - and he himself was pretty punk - and his beat-up converse were bright sunshine yellow. The only thing that did seem to fit the smoke stuff was the heavy black metal belt, with a chain hanging off of it, holding his sheathed sword.

"Are you even listening?" The boy said, and Conner jumped to attention. 

"What?"

He rolled his eyes, then, as if suddenly worried, glanced around. "Do you have any idea... Never mind. How often do you find yourself in life threatening situations?"

Conner tried to think that through; actually, come to think of it... "More than I should?"

"Figures why you reacted so low-key. Kudos. Alright, let's get you out of here."

"Wait, what?" He blinked. "Is... Who are you? What just happened? You just killed the janitor, man."

There was still a ball cap sitting there, a testament to the fact that very much just happened.

The mystery guy nodded very slowly. "Sorry, got ahead of myself. I'm Tim. I just saved your life from a monster that was masquerading as a staff member so it could lure you into a false sense of security and try to kill you. Now, will you come with me so I can take you somewhere where there won't be people trying to kill you?"

Conner took a deep breath. "Tim?"

"Yep." Tim nodded. "And your name is...?"

"Conner." He held out his hand. "Conner Kent. How do I know you won't kill me?"

"You'll have to trust me."

Conner swallowed, then nodded. "Alright, I'll go."

"Good to meet you Conner." Tim smiled, and his heart did a backflip. "Alright, now let's get out of here. Careful, this might make you motion sick."

Then he took his hand, and everything went cold.

***

When he opened his eyes, Conner was in... A garden? As close as he could figure, that was it, but it was like no garden he had ever seen. It looked like something from movies: all big topiary animals and beautiful flowers and exotic plants he'd never seen before.

Tim was still standing there, holding his hand. Blushing, they both pulled away.

"So..." Conner trailed off. "Explain to me what exactly's going on? Because the thing with the snake was sick, and the teleportation was - where are we?"

"One thing at a time." Tim raised his hands in mock surrender, then swayed on his feet. "I'm okay."

"You good? Seriously?"

He nodded. "Shadow travel. Makes me dizzy."

Conner frowned. "You... Teleported us."

"Bruce will explain everything."

"Bruce? Who's Bruce?"

Tim sighed, seeming to fully regain his balance. "This is... Going to sound crazy."

"It already does." Conner pointed out, taking a step forward, jamming his hands as far as they would go in his skinny jeans pockets. "So spill."

"Do you know who your parents are?"

And just like that, it was like a strike to the gut. He didn't know what he was expecting, but... Definitely not that. Maybe an illegal organ stealing ring? Maybe drugs? Maybe aliens, but... Not anything to do with his past.

"One of them." He admitted, startled by his own honesty. "Lex Luthor. I was a test tube kid with him and another guy to see if it would work, but... He decided he didn't want me."

Tim nodded. "But you don't know who the other guy is?"

"No clue. Could just be a donor, for all I know."

Something inside told him it wasn't, but even if it wasn't, it basically was. The guy was never there for him. He was never a father. He couldn't expect him to be one now, of all times.

"And all your life you've been dealing with monsters, like the janitor at your school?"

"Not really like him." Conner figured. "But... There was the time I almost died of 'food poisoning' in third grade. And the giant spider. And... Actually, come to think of it... Yeah. Basically?"

"Well, the fact you can be in here confirms it anyway." Tim shrugged. "You are a demigod."

He blinked. "A what?"

"A demigod. Your other parent is a Greek god."

As if that couldn't get stranger, a tall man in a dark turtleneck walked into the garden, thoroughly startling Conner and leaving him even more frozen in place.

"I see you've thoroughly confused the new kid." He declared in a dry tone, looking him up and down like a piece of meat. "What's your name?"

"Conner." He stuttered out. "Conner Kent."

"Well, Conner Kent." He paused, taking another step forward. "Welcome to camp. I'm Bruce. I'll tell you everything there is to know."

***

After a thoroughly confusing first week, Conner was beginning to enjoy it. The food was good - even if it was served by slightly bloodthirsty harpies - and the activities were fun. But the highlight of his day, however, was any time he got to spend with Tim.

As he himself was unclaimed by his 'godly parent', he stayed in the Hermes cabin. Which wasn't bad - it was a lot of fun in there. He became instant friends with an energetic son of Hermes named Bart, who was always a good time no matter the occasion. He also befriended Cassie, a daughter of Ares who mopped the floor with him in training every day of the week. She was cool.

But Tim was the only one in the Hades cabin which, at times, had to get pretty lonely. He knew what it was like to be stuck without anyone there with you, and... He didn't want that to be Tim. 

It didn't help that he was so cute... It should be illegal to be that adorable.

And he didn't seem to fit with the cabin at all. Bart fit with his, being eclectic in style and nature, just like the cabin. Cassie, with her flashy but practical style, was perfect for Ares. But Tim? He lived in a world of bright colors and nerdy patches sewn on his pants. He wore jean vests, and liked to hammock outside. He looked so out of place in Hades it was laughable. 

Hell, Conner would fit better, being as punk as he was. He might fit with the whole darkness thing. Tim just looked so... Sad.

So that was why, right now, he was sneaking over there. At night. Possibly risking getting in trouble with he ever-so-solemn Bruce. Because he could see the light on through Tim's window, and he didn't want him to be alone.

So, very quietly, he crept out of his sleeping bag, pulled on a pair of pants, yanked on a shirt, tried to slip into his shoes as quietly as possible without alerting the rest of the cabin-

Thankfully, he slept right next to Bart, and Bart was out like a light. Once Bart was out, he snored like nothing else. That would definitely help cover up some of the noise of sneaking out. 

So he pulled on his other shoe, and-

"Where do you think you're going?"

Wally's flashlight beam had landed right on him, catching him directly in the act.

Wally West. Cabin counsellor, Bart's cousin. (Don't ask how that worked in the godly parent region - apparently their moms were not related. At all.) Really neat guy, but really, really, really tired of Bart's shenanigans. And by proxy, anyone associated with Bart.

"Out." Conner said plainly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Wally sighed. "You know what? Just... Fine. Fine. Go. Don't wake me up when you come back... And do come back, I don't want to get in trouble."

Grinning, he continued on his way out the door and over to the Hades cabin. It was just across the green, over, through the bushes... He was very glad he decided to put on pants, besides the obvious that he didn't want Tim to see him without pants on. Conner went straight over to the lit window, tapping on the glass.

A startled Tim appeared almost immediately.

Conner waved.

Tim rolled his eyes, then beckoned him inside, pointing the direction of the door.

Smiling, he headed over to where the door actually was, and waited for Tim to unlock it.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Your light was on, and... I thought you'd be lonely."

Tim shifted his weight, leaning against the side of the doorframe. "Aren't you afraid of getting in trouble?"

"Is Wally really going to report me? Wally?"

He though about that for a moment. "...no. Not unless you're an asshole about it, or too obvious. You probably shouldn't stay too long, though."

"Why?" Conner cocked his head to the side.

"Because tomorrow's capture the flag, dumbass." Tim rolled his eyes. "And I want you in peak physical condition when I beat you."

He scoffed. "We'll see."

"But... Conner?"

"Yeah?"

Tim leaned up, and, on his tiptoes, kissed Conner on the cheek. "Thank you. For making sure I'm not lonely."

He blushed bright red. "It's, uh, no problem."

"Meet me by the lakefront? After capture the flag, maybe?"

Conner swallowed, voice cracking. "Yeah. Sounds great."

"Now, you better get going." Tim smiled, bopping him on the nose. "Get some rest."

"You too."

But as he was walking away, forever with the worst luck ever...

A huge symbol appeared over Conner's head - a giant lightning bolt. You couldn't miss it. And, unfortunately, no one who wasn't sleeping missed it either.

Bruce stepped forward out of nowhere, voice scratchy with sleep. "Conner Kent, son of Zeus, breaking curfew?"


	7. No Capes AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reflection backwards, from Tim, to when everything was good and perfect with him and Conner and their whole group.
> 
> Before it all fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad ending, angst, smoking (please don't smoke, as your local breathing problem friend), self harm, briefly mentioned Damijon but it's easy to ignore, it's right at the end, you could pretend it's anyone else if that's not your thing, major character death, suicidal ideation, earthquake? Um... Yep.

It had been a long time since junior high. Back when Bart's hair was a puffy, frizzed out mess, and Tim pierced Conner's ear on one side with a needle and a potato and an ice cube, and Cassie had those lopsided bangs, but somehow all of those choices worked. When school was easy, and hanging out was as simple as skateboards and frozen yogurt, and everyone dared each other to do stupid shit, and they would always carry through no matter how dumb or dangerous, as long as someone filmed it all for laughs later. It had been so long since everything was perfect. Since everything was alright, and fine, and Tim found himself just wanting to forget it all.

He almost found himself laughing, like other people did when they looked in at that. At the way he told those stories, of Cassie's braces and the skinned knees and all of the acne. Perfect? Junior high? What planet are you from? People laughed. They didn't like stories, pictures of things that weren't good. That weren't perfect.

But that was the thing... It was. He really did have it made. Him, Bart, Cassie, Conner-

Conner...

It was all perfect. And people say you can't feel true love when you're young, when you're just a teenager, when you're just a kid, they say that you're 'too immature' like that and they're damn well liars, they all are. Just jealous, all of them. They wish they could have found their love at twelve years old, that he had moved across the country, that he was the new kid in school with the two divorced dads and the vaguely Midwestern accent and the shaky hands. He had been so cute, that day. From the moment he saw him he knew.

But now, looking back, all of those memories, all of those bright times...

Shadows seemed to dance across them, foreshadowing the future, telling of the inevitable. Ghost stories took on a terrible twist, sleepovers that suddenly lost their night lights. They knew. The future was laughing. It always knew what was coming. 

And if only he could get rid of high school, get rid of that awful time in his life where everything went wrong and he took everything for granted and it all fell apart - they started out so perfectly. If he could cut out the middle of the story it would still hurt, but it wouldn't leave him sobbing on bathroom floors for years to come, it wouldn't leave him so entirely destroyed. If only he hadn't fought, if only that fight wasn't real, if he just- if he only-

Because it was real. 

Because he couldn't even breathe anymore. He took up his older brother Jason's bad habit of smoking, after the whole thing went down, just to see if it would make him feel alive. To see if it could. Just for the fun of it, he would say to people if they bothered him, but it wasn't fun and it never was and he never thought that it would be to begin with.

And it didn't. Make him feel alive, that is.

He scratched his name into his wrist, too. Just to see if it would make him feel something. 

Conner Kent.

It didn't.

***

Because at the beginning of things they were untouchable, they were wild, reckless. Immortal. Nothing could bring them down. They were thirteen, for fucks sake. Why would they think about death?

But they did.

They thought about death all the time. They just never thought it could touch them. It just never seemed real, once the lights were turned back on.

Tim could remember nights at the beginning of freshmen year spent driving around with only learners permits in Conner's dad's car, going to fortune tellers and all sorts of places like that, chasing the future when they were only fourteen, fifteen at most. 

And they would leave those places gasping for air, laughing, no matter what they had to say, because they didn't believe in it. Why they kept going back, seeking it out, asking for more, he never could figure out after the fact. It was a morbid fascination. 

Just kids, laughing at death.

Only, Tim now knew exactly which ones were honest, and which ones lied.

He didn't go to those places anymore; he knew he'd die somehow. That didn't amaze him. He didn't need to know about it. And it wouldn't be suicide. He wasn't about to kill himself that easily. No, he would die eventually, but not that quick. He was reckless, but not that easy.

He'd even stopped cutting himself, impossibly. Stopped the bleeding. When you do it to feel, to get a reaction out of yourself, to jump start life back into a body that won't cooperate, it isn't worth it when that reaction ceases to function. 

But the name is still there. He keeps that covered, most days. It used to hurt too much to look at, but now the numbness is worse.

But he still smoked, outside on the fire escape, more than Jason did these days since he'd been cutting back. And he coughed terribly, with his asthma, but he didn't care. That was just how life was, sometimes, and if it took burning in his lungs to get him on his feet, so be it. He would set himself on fire to feel something. To hurt.

And to hurt, he kept all of the photos he took along the way.

It was no secret that Tim was quite a photographer when he was younger, but now... Now his skills tended to be used professionally, and that tended to be it. All of the photos he took that were in his shitty apartment were old and most...

Most were of their homes. After the earthquake. The Kent home, completely flattened. The Allen home, the family standing outside in shock. The Sandsmark's in awe outside their own damaged house.

But the Kent home.

The Kent home.

Completely flattened.

Devastated.

The earthquake destroyed everything in Gotham, leveled buildings, destroyed bridges, tore down entire livelihoods in a matter of minutes.

It wrecked this home. Their home. Metaphorically speaking, they never lived together, and-

It was his fault. Somehow, it had to be someone's fault, all of this, but... It was a natural disaster. That wasn't anyone's fault. Things like that happen. No one made it. No one could have prevented it.

But if they hadn't fought, that night...

***

Tim stared at himself in the mirror, picked idly at the skin of his pale face. 

There was a time he was attractive. Conner used to think so, at least. There were girls who did, too... At least, he thought they did. They wanted to date him. He was cute, with big blue eyes and a bright smile...

But that was a long time ago. These days he was basically just a ghost. An outline. A slip of a man who took his photos to pay for rent and testosterone and food and cigarettes. That was all he was. He wouldn't say that he was unattractive, now, or that his face had grown uglier over the years, but...

He was easily forgettable. Those blue eyes that had been so striking were tired now. His complexion wasn't so clear anymore, he thought to himself, picking at yet another pimple. He looked a little bit... 

Dead. From the limp way his hair hung down over his face to the dark circles under his eyes, he looked dead. He didn't have that spark. His eyes didn't have life or youth in them anymore.

But they hadn't for a long time. Not since they fought.

He could still hear the words he said...

But he couldn't relive them. Not now. Not when they made his eyes well up with tears every time he did and he hadn't cried in, well... He hadn't cried in years, now. They left him reeling, gasping for breath, completely stunned.

And that was only the first time Conner Kent broke his heart.

But instead of realizing that he was the stupid one, that he loved him, he had to yell at him, to send him away. And if he had been in the Drake house, in Tim's basement where they were before, maybe he would still be alive like Tim was, like the rest of them were. The others moved away, but... Maybe Tim wouldn't have pictures of the wreckage of Conner's home on his wall specifically so that every day when he woke up he would have to stare at it and know that was his fault. 

You caused that.

You-

***

When Tim heard a knock at the door, he was expecting the landlord with a complaint about something or other he'd been doing. About all the smoke. About a noise. That was just how she worked, after all. So when he dragged himself out of bed and over to the door, he definitely wasn't expecting to see Conner Kent's little brother.

It was like a slap in the face. 

All the air was stolen from his lungs.

What was his name? Jon. That was right. He had just been a little kid when Tim was around him, last; around Damian's age. 

Fuck, he wasn't ready for this. How were you supposed to prepare for this? 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

"Can I help you?"

"You're Tim, right? Damian's older brother?" Jon asked, and Tim could only see where they looked alike, where Conner's features shine through in his half-brother's face.

The same curly black hair that stuck out in every direction, curling above his ears. The same strong nose. The same brows. The same big ears, but they looked weirder on this kid. The same lopsided smile.

Differences. Differences. You have to look at what else or you'll tear yourself apart.

He had brown eyes, not blue. Instead of the little clusters of freckles by his eyes, Jon had a whole bunch across his nose, like paint splatter, almost. His teeth had a gap in the center, making him look younger than he was. Even though he couldn't have been older than fifteen, he was tall; he could have easily been close to six foot.

"Yep." He answered blankly, trying not to let himself be affected. "And I remember who you are, Jon, you don't need to introduce yourself."

Jon blushed. "Well... I'll just get right into it, then. This might be weird, but since your family is so weird with everything, I wanted to ask everyone to make sure so no one would kill me..."

Tim raised an eyebrow. What was he asking?

"...is it okay if I date Damian?"

And instantly, all of his indifferent airs were gone. "Just... Come inside, will you?"

Jon didn't seem to know how to respond to that. He glanced down at the street, no doubt at his bike, locked to the rack down below, before hesitantly following him inside. Tim shut the door behind him. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Do you love him?"

"What?" Jon blinked, clearly not prepared for such a direct question. "I mean... What did you say?"

"I asked if you loved him." Tim restated, swallowing, feeling the tremble in his voice. "Do you?"

"Well..." He trailed off. "Most people say we're too young for that..."

"You're not."

"Then I do." Jon declared, looking Tim straight in the eyes. "I love him."

Brown eyes. Doe-like. Innocent. He remembered Conner, he remembered the earthquake, but only as a kid does. He's still a kid, in the before phase, when everything's perfect. 

Please, let everything stay perfect.

Tim swallowed, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "Then you're lucky. Love him well."

He looked down at the floor, kicking idly at the carpet. "I'd... Better get going."

"See you soon, Jon."

"See you around, Tim."

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

It was all just bad luck, Tim supposed.

But it was still his fault, in the end.

Because he would always sit in the park, taking photos of families, being jealous of how they loved each other. He would always be bitter over the couples and their engagement photos, their wedding photos, anniversaries. That was the nature of the photographer: to capture life at its best. That was what people wanted.

But what about its worst?

What about the earthquake?

No, his heart would always be broken. And he'd always be smoking his cigarettes, trying desperately to forget, to distract himself from what he'd done.

He would always be standing here on the fire escape, missing Conner Kent.

And it would always be his fault. His burden to bear until the day he died, staring out at the smoke, watching it fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all! It's been fun! I posted early bc I'm getting my wisdom teeth out, and didn't want to rely on my loopy self to post, so I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (Also, this was lowkey highkey based on Youth by Daughter... It's a good song)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at Supertinywords or Supertinybats!
> 
> Requests are open! I need a bunch for Fictober and NaNoWriMo, so I'm stocking up!
> 
> Comments are love <3


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